Where once the world narrowed into naught but gray dust and desolation, the gods called for life. Wielding the elements of fire and light, dark and wind, earth and water, spark and time, they have created Helovia. The realm is set within the mythical globe of Loorien, a planet rich with all variety of creatures and blessed with all manner of magic. Originally populated by nomadic, tribal characters, they've since grown into massive empires saturated with culture and history. Separated into four distinct segments of Helovia, called "The Regions," each band of horse strong enough and capable enough, took up the power and responsibility of leadership. Unicorns, old, wise and mysterious, took to the north, hidden in forests of mists and shadows and rarely making themselves known beyond their cliffs of the World's Edge. Equines, vast, organized and militaristic, split into two, one group went north to the Windtossed Foothills and the other group went south to the Dragon's Throat. Pegasus remained nomadic, making their homes in various parts of The Wilds in a migratory manner. For many generations, the land was peaceful and calm, but peace was never the way of the gods. With a clash of argument, war and bloodshed massacred Helovia, and in the aftermath, the realm was eerily quiet. Now, as newcomers sweep into this land, they are met with the lingering bitterness of the gods and the struggle to reclaim what was lost. Nothing remains safe or certain while sorcerers and soldiers alike brood and bide their time for revenge, honor and glory.

Site Wide Plots

Kaos :: The Beginning of the End☼ - 6/2017 - Kaos placed Helovia in a time-bubble for a short period of time, but the Helovian gods are fighting back. But Kaos is powerful- far more powerful than anyone thought. This may be the beginning of the end of Helovia as we know it.

Endless Night :: Broken Magic Plot☼ - 8/30/13 - The earth god has returned and is walking across Helovia to heal the land. Every area can now be considered lush and prosperous, but the sun has still not risen.

☼ - 7/19/13 - The moon has risen in the sky, heralding the return of the Goddess of the moon. Lamp trees which light the paths have grown brighter, moon flowers which grow in dark places have begun to grow and prosper and the world is brighter, filled with a new hope.

Endless Night :: Dead Magic Plot☼ - 6/22/13 - The gods of Helovia, in order to protect the world, have disappeared into the rift, leaving the world sunless, moonless and magic-less in their absence. Only the herdlands have a source of light, but lamp-trees with glowing leaves and branches sporadically line the popular roads and paths from place to place.

Doppleganger Plot☼ - 6/20/13 - The God of Time is still struggling to close the rift though which the dopplegangers have come. He has requested that his brothers and sister assist in closing this hole, but without knowing why it opened, the task is proving difficult. Magic still remains faulty and hard to control, but the herdlands continue to be places of refuge for those who are fortunate enough to call these lands home.

ORANGEMOON cools off the lands with a a viscious force. Colder than normal, a sign of things to come during Frostfall, Helovia is bathed in a rich tropical lushness - albiet a cold one. The coastlines of the Dragon's Throat are pelted constantly by tidal waves, and the desert climate is humid but chilly. Ice begins to form early in the Aurora Basin leaving the winding trails slick and dangerous. The mists of the World's Edge coat everything in a glistening crystalline shine which encourages mould to grow everywhere. The Spectral Marsh is the only area which remains fertile, blissfully temperature and lush.

Cotm

Character of the Month for
June, 2017

WEAVER, Corporal of the Aurora Basin, is a relatively recent addition to Helovia and has taken it by storm. Branded with the seal of Death on her chest, intrigue and interest follow both her past and present. Though she is assuredly beautiful, her sometimes sharp personality reveals that there is more to this uni-peg hybrid than meets the eye. Proving herself able on the battlefield in the Basin’s warrior ranks, we can’t wait to see her test her mettle against the looming Kaos happenings! Congratulations!

Helovia RPG was created by Tamme and Blu and coded by Tamme also known as Schwartze. All coding, palettes and imagery are copyrighted to the website and are not for use outside of Helovia. Thank you to our ServerMaster for hosting Helovia. A special thanks goes to Neo for all of her coding help and fixing Tamme's errors, Boom, for her loyal service and creation of the Time God, and to Ali for her consistent contributions and dedication.

CIRCE
It didnt' seem so long ago that Circe was in this very state--but with a jolt, the shadowmere realized it was an entire year since she had stalked these very fields in high dudgeon, just as riled as she was then with the pooling magma of anger that threatened to spill over the lip of her cauldron. The dewy springtime air could do nothing to calm her vitriol; the balmy winds and the plush, luscious grass underneath her hooves failed to soothe the raging spirit within the dark Executioner. The deed with Chemical was done, and the black Pegasus and her children were safe from harm; there was no more for the shadowmere to do save protect the borders of her herd. No matter how her bones and body ached for the rumble of the battle drums, the borders remained quiet and peaceful, content with the mockery of their sentinel’s unrest. There would be no need for the shadowmere to fight today.

There was never a need.

The sun still refused to rear its radiant head, and the night continued to draw on—but a curious sensation returned to the shadowmere, and she realized her mastery over the black magic she wielded returned to her hoof-tips. Circe hadn’t realized she had lost it, so overcome with depression as she was; but now that the sensation of earth and weight began to swim within her blood once again, Circe recognized that she had endured the whole of Frostfall without her precious sorcery. It could’ve raised her spirits to know she was whole again, she could’ve wondered whether to test it on some misbegotten boulder that littered the dark, star-lighted hills. None of these things occurred; in fact, the shadowmere only wondered if the absence of her magic was the cause for her waste. Was I not satisfactory? Was I not ready for the test of war? she often wondered, a sour, bitter note in her voice, a twisted ridicule of the returning soldiers when one considered the fact that they had lost.

They had lost! The wandering, suckling babes had been chosen to bear the battle, and they had lost regardless of whatever confidence they were able to garner from the Dauntless and the Dark Lady. Admittedly, they had somehow garnered victories in their own battles, even as the war was lost. Circe had no taste for the unicorns of the North; she couldn’t care less that they had spinelessly crumbled underneath the eccentricity of the Edge horses. Perhaps the addition of the shadowmere wouldn’t have tilted the scale in the favor for the allied forces; she acknowledged this. It didn’t stop the dark mare from pacing her home, from trudging the shadowed valleys that glistened with dew; it didn’t stop her from tossing her head, snorting into the night with a tail that twisted and lashed behind her, an adder with fangs ready to strike; it didn’t hold back the rumbling, bellowing neigh that escaped her maw, a whinny of frustration that rolled over the hills, beckoning her own countrymen to experience a true fight. Come, it said,Fight me, stop wasting me!

[Opening Post

Setting: A shallow valley in the Foothills, with a few deciduous trees in the belly of it. Mild night with some dew and a few muddy patches. Clear sky; stars and half-moon are visible.

It had only been a few days since the short-lived Invasion had ended, and yet every fiber of Phaedra's being was still keenly prepared for more. She was on edge. She was angry, and angsty and unyeildingly furious at having been sent into battle.

Into fucking war. She was a spy, and not even a muscular one at that. Her body was long and lean - designed as if specifically for flight and speed. She had little stamina on the ground, and likely even less when it came to throwing her body at another. Up until the Invasion, that hadn't bothered her. Prior to Helovia, she sought the comfort of men to protect and care for her. However, after Ophelia had given her a home and a purpose, she found protection from the Gray, allowing her to focus her efforts on improving her skills as a spy. Never before had she considered that one day she would be left on her own - whether that be by Ophelia's leaving, or Archibald throwing her into chaos. Never before had she a desire to learn to fight.

But now she did. Now she damn well did. Perhaps it was because she had never truly been beaten down physically before - a bruise on her chest? What was that, compared to the exhaustive list of other injuries she might have sustained? What about a blow to her pretty face? She might well rethink this crusade she was on, but as the idea has not occurred to her, on she marches.

On foot, Phaedra stomps through the Foothills. She is one of the few pegasus who dwell her, and as she is searching for an equine, she confines herself to the ground. Mentally she sends a picture of Archibald to Stella, reinforcing that that is who they are after, not supposing that they will encounter someone else on their march.

Circe's call reaches Phaedra's ears, and her gaze narrows. Moving swiftly towards the sound, Phaedra tries to pick out who is moving in the darkness below. It is difficult to tell, for Circe's coat blends in well with the night, but she is one of the few leonine-unicorns that dwell in the Foothills, and with Stella's mental confirmation, Phaedra moves closer.

"You!" She yells, her normally flirtatious sing-song voice now straining to sound demanding and domineering. "Circe!"-Archibald's fuck buddy. She thinks, grating her teeth together. Her tail lashes confidently at her hocks, as she halts a few feet away. "Just where the hell have you been. There was an Invasion sugar, or were you too busy being Archibald's pet to do your damn job?!"

Indignantly, she stomped a hoof into the lush ground, tossing her dainty head with a snort. At her side, Stella hovers, her dark gaze narrowed at Circe, as her bright orangey-yellow face displays a look of unsureness. Not Archibald? We go.. The bird mentally sent to her bonded, whose gaze remained locked on the dark mare. An undeserved mask of confidence covered her dainty features, as her body glistened with small points of starlight, casting wavering shadows onto the ground.

[WC: 521
Intro.
Attack: 0/3
M&C: 0/2.]

*Requested stats from Tamme for Circe and Phaedra*

Join the waves in the ocean?
Or let my soul fade away, in the dark?
Cause I've gone astray,
& all my flowers turned to dandelions.

CIRCE
It wasn’t long before Circe’s challenge was answered—and boy, was it an answer.

A shrill voice reached the shadowmere’s perception, a dandy, sweetish type that could’ve been a treat to listen to if it wasn’t so laced with strained aggression. Turning her head, horn held high and regally, Circe surveyed the speckled dancer with the rather adorable wrinkle to her nose as she came closer. Indeed, the affect was almost comical as Phaedra approached with evident venom in her tone, seemingly under the delusion that it would humble the Executioner, and the sorceress was hard-pressed to take her seriously at first.

It was true; Circe’s irritation didn’t evaporate as the spy came closer—in fact, it positively mounted as the tinny voice demanded explanations for all sorts of things that were out of the shadowmere’s control. Yes, Circe had been absent from the fight; yes, Circe was just as confused and agitated as Phaedra seemed to be, an agitation that was only chafed by the fact that this spindly-legged harlot had been called to action in the shadowmere’s place. Suppose the enemy would be too dazzled by kaleidoscopic ass cheeks to properly engage in combat? Whatever the case, the point was moot, seeing as the allied forces had been defeated. Did this dancing spy win blood for the Grey? Not quite.

It was no matter. Circe wasn’t about to unleash her pent-up frustration on this hollow-boned sass of a Shadow; she was much too fragile, and the shadowmere wasn’t one for injuring her fellows. Let her take out her spleen on the shadowmere, Circe didn’t care; she would wait until the spy emptied her lungs of air, then Circe would turn her heel, lash her tail, and take her leave to find someone with a little more hardy constitution to pummel into the mud. The dark mare was just on the brink of doing such a thing, her head beginning to turn away from the insolent words.

And then Phaedra called her a pet.

The effect was instantaneous. “A pet?” Circe whispered, her rumbling voice a cold, jagged dagger of ice instead of the warm purr it usually was, her eyes hard and blazing as she slowly turned to face the speckled Shadow once more. “A pet you call me?” It was as though her tail were being electrified, twitching and jerking and flailing in the air as it was with the sudden upsurge of rage the shadowmere suddenly felt. “You, call me, a pet?” Her voice refused to raise, yet with every word it seemed the sorceress strove to freeze the very air around them, icy as her tone was.

She turned her whole body square to face Phaedra, and started her march. It was an unconscious reaction on the part of the shadowmere, for her head to drop into a neutral stance, her horn held in front of her as a knight might hold its lance; both a weapon and a shield from attack. Neck arched, steps high and rigid in her wrath, Circe took one more step, than another, approaching the spy head-on with every movement stiff with the anger that poured from her sides. “You call me pet for man,” she said, still in that fanged, icy whisper, “When you--“, she threw her right hoof before her, pawing the air and hoping to clip the spy in the front of her chest, “—are princess” she threw her other hoof, “—for fairy?!” and threw her right hoof once more, trying to punish this insolent fool of a mare by pounding her into the ground with every step she made.

~.~.~.~.~

[W/C: 650

1/3 PC, 0/1 PC

0/1 MC

Stomps toward Phaedra and throws her forehooves three times, attempting to bash Phaedra square in the chest.]

She has seen the change in Circe, and had been glad for it. If her attitude alone couldn't rile the mare up, at least something she said, had. She would have felt even less at home here, if she had been cast off like some indignant child - if her anger had been given no audience. At least having Circe engage with her, felt like it somehow justified her anger. At least she was paying attention.

Her characteristically dazzling smile broke out across her muzzle, as Circe began to march forward. For a split second Phae marveled at how the mare was able to extend her forelegs like that - surely Phaedra's own spindly limbs wouldn't do much damage should she try the same. Noting that Circe did not appear to mean to stop her march should Phaedra's body prove to be an obstacle, the golden spy trotted forward a few steps, with wings extended. She jumped into the air, as if Circe's kicks were merely small jumps for her to overcome. Leaping over the first kick, her body was angled towards Circe's right shoulder - so that the spy would not leap directly into the dark mare's horn. As Phaedra's hind-end passed where she assumed Circe's right shoulder to be, she kicked out with both legs simultaneously, hoping to charlie-horse the muscle should it be extended in a kick or at least cause a bruise. Her creamy tail snapped to and fro as she passed, hoping to deter Circe's head from turning inwards and trying to skewer her with that horn.

"Better a princess with a fairy, than a dog on a chain." She sneered. It wasn't in her nature to be truly so crass, and although naming her a princess, and Tolio a fairy wasn't even really an insult, the spy assumed it was meant to be. And after having just been battered by a mare who indeed threw sticks and stones, Phaedra would not let these words hurt her. Landing only a few meters away, her body still glistening in the moonlight, Phaedra pivoted around, aiming to once again be facing Circe head on. "But even Loretta was let off of her chain. Where were you ?" The last part of her statement held only a confused honesty - all malice had left her sing-song voice.

Standing with wings outspread at her sides, flanks heaving slightly from the adrenaline rush of having been charged at by a mare much larger than she, her sea-green gaze regarded Circe with confusion.

Compliment? Stella offered from the tree's, sensing her bonded's question. A silvery laugh escaped Phae's lips, as she looked from her companion back to Circe. "Stella thinks that I should take this as a compliment. And maybe she's right - you can't even hit me, can you? No wonder Archibald sent me instead of you."

If he had sent Circe, Phaedra realized, all of her doubts about the Grey would have been confirmed. Phaedra had been a part of this family longer than both of them - but who had gone into the battle? Rafe and Archibald were of course obvious choices - but Artemis? Janus? Hana? All relatively new to the family, and unproven. Was this indeed a compliment from Archibald? That even though she was not a skilled warrior, that she was trusted, above those fledglings? Trusted more than Circe?

It was a comforting thought, but it was not alone in her mind: Was it perhaps that she was simply expendable, in a way that Circe was not?

[WC: 598
Attack: 1/3
M&C: 0/2.
Summary: Phaedra jumps over Circe's first kick, her body angled towards Circe's right side. She tries to kick with both hind-feet at Circe's right shoulder, and snaps her tail to try and deter retaliation from Circe's horn.

CIRCEI hate pegasi, the shadowmere thought with a snarl in her throat.

Typical. Instead of facing the wrath of the Executioner head on and confronting the punishment of her obtuse actions with dignity, Phaedra had taken off into the air, a frightened popinjay reeling from the claws of an unleashed hell-cat. Leaning towards the left with her chest and curling her body away from the petite, flailing limbs, Circe dodged the kick, but her anger mounted as she watched the dainty fawnling soar through the air for some beats. It aggravated the shadowmere even more that her own hooves had not met their mark—and for some moments, the urge to use her Black Magic and rip the spy from the star-strewn winds and onto ground suffused the Executioner’s body and mind. Phaedra landed, though, before Circe could unleash her arcane abilities, choosing to insult the sorceress once more; no matter. As soon as those delicate hooves touched ground, Circe was already moving toward her.

There was no wind to howl, and the air remained balmy and sweet—the complete opposite of how Circe felt inside. How could someone who would normally be so insignificant rile the shadowmere so? The truth was in the bent pride in Circe’s chest; the grains of honesty from Phaedra’s mouth seemed to drop into the cogs that worked the shadowmere’s psyche, interrupting smooth, correct function, causing a blockage of pent-up energy and frustration to come to the fore of her mind. Because these were things Circe thought about herself; these were the thoughts that caused sleep to evade her countless times. What reason was there for this….glittery thing to run off into battle, and for Circe to keep to the herd lands, again, and watch the action from the sidelines, again?

An answer sprung into being and into her mouth as she continued to stalk toward Phaedra. “I stayed to protect these borders from intrusion,” she said with staccato tones, bitter notes tumbling from her lips sharp as tacks, aiming to pierce the Shadow who dared provoke the Executioner so, “because I do not ask trespassers to our home if ‘they missed me’. I am dog on chain? I am loyal bitch instead of loose one.” At this, the shadowmere broke into a charge with blazing eyes, angling a little to her right, her hind hoofs digging into the dirt and sliding slightly on a dewy patch of grass; she raised her head some, as it was not in her intention to pierce Phaedra, but to ram into her with the left point of her shoulder, to use her broader chest, her thicker body, to crash into the fragile bones of the Pegasus as a battering ram might puncture through a brittle pane of glass. As she moved, Circe extended her long teeth, aiming to clamp her jowls somewhere along the left side of Phaedra’s long, elegant neck, wanting to pierce skin, taste blood, cause pain—anything, anything at all, to punish this impertinence.

~.~.~.~.~

[W/C: 506

2/3 PC, 0/1 PC

0/1 MC

Dodges Phaedra's kick by curling away towards the left; as Phaedra lands, stalks toward her once more, breaking into a charge as she gets closer. Aims to ram Phaedra with the point of her left shoulder, and tries to bite somewhere along the left side of Phaedra's neck.
__________

As Circe's body rolled away from her kick, and her hooves met naught but air, Phaedra felt a painful twinge in her right thigh - that closest to where Circe should have been. Having kicked out with the expectation of contacting something, the spy had instead overextended, painfully jolting her thigh muscle as it returned weakly to her body.

It was an intimidating thing, to fight this beast of a mare on the ground - something she had not done with that one-eared child from the Edge. As the word loose fell from the executioner's lips, a genuine smile cracked Phaedra's nervous exterior. "Sugar, tell me something I don't know." She chimed, as she continued to smile at the darker mare. Was there any doubt as to the truth in Circe's words? Of course not. Had she ever been loyal to any stallion? Doubtful. Perhaps more loyal in certain cases, as with Tolio - but it was in fact the handsome new leader of this merry band, who had caused her to break her fidelity completely.

Just as her mouth opened to speak again, it sharply clamped shut as Circe charged from the darkness. With wings still outstretched Phae desperately tried to repeat the same flighted-hop that she had utilized to avoid Circe's first attack. However, she found the lush grasses to still be slick from the frozen ground which had begun to melt somewhat, even without the light of the sun, and found that her jarred leg was still too weak from her failed kick, to find purchase upon them. Stumbling forward, Phaedra tried to force herself into the air with the brute strength of her wings. She may have been able to do it, on another day, when fear and adrenaline weren't both nattering in her ears, and when she hadn't just spent hours the previous day avoiding a mare who threw sticks - maybe then, but not today. Achieving only marginal lift, it wasn't near fast, or high enough to avoid the dark mare's attacks, only to change their impact.

At what felt like the same time, for pain seems to muddy correct intervals of measure, Phaedra felt a bright pain flare up in her shoulder, at the same time as Circe's shoulder slammed onto her left side - feeling as though the impact hit her entire ribcage. As the air was knocked forcefully from Phaedra's lungs, the thought of Birch once again rushed to her mind - and how his body seemed to be able to touch all points of hers with one blow, just as Circe's had. Phaedra squealed loudly - sounding more like the beginning of one who is going to cry, rather than the battled hardened sounds that would surely come out of Circe, were she to be similarly injured. Her 'flight' was put to an end as her body was thrown to the right, her hind end swinging badly off balance, while her wings flapped ungracefully trying to right herself on the slippery grasses.

Tears of pain and embarrassment blossomed in her gaze, as her left wing weakly moved up and down, trying to determine if the bite, or the blow to her side had affected her ability to fly. Her gaze was blurred by tears, as she carefully moved her body to try and face the dark mare again. This time as she spoke, the anger did not need to be forced, and the pain was evident - and not only physical pain this time. " I am loyal to this family sugar, if not to a man." Her voice began to tremble as she spoke, head raised slightly as if to force gravity to hold the tears in her eyes. "I have done more than you ever have to prove myself here! And I-" As her voice escalated to a full yell - for a moment her thoughts split between her speech, and her companion. GO she thought to Stella, as her gaze dropped to squarely look at Circe. "-have been here longer!" - Doesn't that matter?!

As her bonded finished her sentence, Stella had already taken to the air. Her black eyes were trained upon the larger mare, as she was carried swiftly down. Aiming for Circe's loin-area, the bird's talons were outstretched. Her body was angled so as to try and evade a buck, should one come, and also prepared to scratch at anything else that should come her way. Part of the bird's mind wanted to resist Phaedra's mental command that she should not inflict the sort of damage done just hours ago to the whitish mare in the Edge - but how could she resist, with the emotional state her bonded had been reduced to?

[WC: 794
Attack: 2/3
M&C: 1/X
Summary: Phaedra takes damage from her missed kick. She tries to repeat the maneuver and fly away from Circe, but fails to given the wet grass, and her still-weak leg. Her body is only able to rotate slightly, so that Circe's bite hits her shoulder, and her shoulder hits her rib cage, hurting, and knocking her off balance. Stella attacks Circe's back while Phaedra cries about it. :| ]

Join the waves in the ocean?
Or let my soul fade away, in the dark?
Cause I've gone astray,
& all my flowers turned to dandelions.

CIRCE
Whatever satisfaction Circe felt in finally bringing punishment to the Shadow was naught but a short-lived spark in the confusion of a maelstrom. Because—amazingly—the ease of which she was able to crush Phaedra’s defense, to send her careening so wildly off balance, left the horrid taste of further frustration in Circe’s mouth. There was no justice in the beating of this spindle-legged windsock of a mare; Circe’s spleen refused to be vented on such easy prey. What was more, the speckled bitch had the audacity of tear-filled eyes, the nerve to squeal as a sow might in obvious distress for whatever hurt Circe had brought down upon her—when it was Phaedra’s own disgrace that had begun this conflict. It left the shadowmere wanting to rage and storm with aggravation, to wring the spy to and fro in an attempt to shake some sense into that dense, lovely head of hers—which only added to Circe’s irritation, because she knew that such treatment would snap that pretty little neck and there would be hell to pay.

“Have you no honor?!” Circe spat at Phaedra, her voice finally rising into something strained and agitated as she stood there surveying the sniveling coward of a mare. Coward. Was this place full of them, lurking under rocks like the spineless lizards they were? “Have you no shame?! What loyalty is this—you call me dog, you call me pet for our own General, and I had no quarrel with you! What shit is given that you were here before me, when you stand preening your feathers with misplaced pride, jeering at your family as a child might in jealous anger? What—“

The shadowmere’s speech was cut off by the jagged yelp that burst from her chest, her back curling under the sharp bite of the secretary bird’s talons. Standing there, screaming her lungs out at the sniffling, speckled Spy, Circe had completely lost track of Phaedra's gangling companion, and she was now reaping the reward for her lack of attention. There was no escape from the talons; their aim was true, scraping and peeling at Circe’s skin, and her lower back and dock burned with the searing pain of it. Wind brushed against it, and while the air remained mild and pleasant, against the marks upon her back it was not; the wind was cold and biting against the hurt inflicted by Phaedra’s bird-creature, which told the sorceress that fur and skin had been at least partially torn away. Would it bleed? Perhaps with rough movement the now-brittle skin would break open.

Circe’s rage reached its peak; this was not Archibald inflicting these things upon her, biting her body and breaking skin, and so there was no pleasure or excitement felt from it. Almost unconsciously, Circe danced to the right, calling upon her arcane abilities as she moved; from the depths of her body she willed the bird-creature to be pulled downwards to the ground, to come and properly meet its fate. Circe then threw her left hind hoof—not backwards, but outwards, towards the creature that afforded this pain and damage. It was mostly a gesture of her mounting frustration, but some savage piece of the Executioner hoped that her hoof would collide with the hopefully-falling pile of feathers.
Away from the bird’s talons, Circe looked at Phaedra again, her eyes dancing with the red haze that swam before them. “Ophelia was here before you, I’m guessing,” she growled, and a taunt was slipped somewhere between her words, “and see how much that mattered. No, Phaedra, this is not loyalty. You chose to mock me, a warrior, you chose to play with fire and mess with bull, and you will now receive horns from hell.” And once again, she charged Phaedra once more, thick tail curling and swiping the air around her throbbing loins in an attempt to deter the feathered beast from another attack. As she attempted to get closer to Phaedra, Circe skidded to a stop in front of the Shadow, dirt and sticky mud coming to gather around her hooves and inside her frogs; she raised into a half-rear and threw one, then two, fore-hooves towards the left side of Phaedra's chest, trying slap the mare with reason and the mud accumulated in her charge. “It is time you learned to shut up!”

~.~.~.~.~

[W/C: 738

3/3 PC, 0/1 PC

1/1 MC

Cusses out Phaedra, and is attacked by Stella while she's distracted. Receives shallow, yet painful scratches on her lower back and dock area; she uses her magic to increase the gravity around Stella, hoping to upset her flight and pull her downwards, and aims a kick towards Stella. Circe then charges Phaedra, and begins to cuss her out some more as she does; skids to a stop, half-rears, and tries to strike Phaedra's left chest again with her forehooves. Also tries to get her dirty.
__________

What does honor have to do with it?! Phaedra wondered, as Circe snarled insults her way. Therein, we should realize even if these two cannot, the fundamental differences between the two mares. Phaedra has always done what was necessary to survive - and if that meant being the pet of another stallion - a charge she recently laid upon Circe - well, what of it? There is no honor amongst the dead, it is merely a term the living throw around to justify their accomplishments. At least, that's the extent of it in Phaedra's mind. With Ophelia gone and the herd now run by the military might of Ktulu and Archibald, what place did honor truly play? Was it honor that was driving Circe now, to attack her herd-mate? Is that what being in the Grey amounted to now?

"I think your brain is rattled, sugar. I only called you a pet - you became a dog once you decided to attack one of your own!" Phaedra scoffed, too fueled by adrenaline and misplaced anger to feel the full weight of what Circe had said. What pride was there to speak of? Being forced to fight for the enemy, and returning to a broken home? What pride could there be, with her golden body bruised, and Circe's unmarred by the war?

Stella's wings beat feebly against magic that out-powered her avian muscles. With a trill of fright, her body was swept downwards towards the ground - an easy target for the executioner. As Circe's hoof connected against Stella's bright white chest, a horrific and primal cry issued from Phaedra's throat - a sound that intermingled in a painful harmony with the secretary birds' own cry of pain. Tears immediately welled in Phae's no-longer confident gaze; this was madness. It was a simple fucking question! A legitimate one. Why wasn't Circe in the Invasion? Why had she been sent? How had it become this? Circe's words rushed by her, but Phaedra barely noticed. Already she had begun to rush towards her companion's crumbled body, failing to see Circe's dark form move towards her in the dim light. Mildly Phae became aware of dust and debris shooting at her as the darker mare slid to a stop, but it was only once Circe's hoof struck the left side of Phaedra's chest, a painful encore to the wound Circe had already inflicted there, that her attention was removed from Stella. A cry of pain escaped Phaedra's lips as mud slapped against her neck; her eyes blinking away large tears to look upon Circe in horror. It was all suddenly too much.

"YOU BITCH" Phaedra roared, her svelte body suddenly lunging forward. Her hooves fought with the moist soil beneath her to try and force her into the taller mare. With ears against her skull, Phaedra thrashed with her front hooves, trying to hit any bit of Circe that she could reach. As gravity pulled her back down, her teeth snapped towards the left side of Circe's face, and then her shoulder.

Now empty of both adrenaline and rage as all four legs reached the ground, Phaedra feebly moved with an unsteady apprehension towards the unmoving body of her companion. Tears poured from her gaze, as her legs finally buckled as she neared Stella's side. Phaedra's muzzle dropped, to lower onto the birds chest - coating the black and white body in tears and sweat - while checking for signs of life. "It was only a question-" Phaedra muttered incomprehensibly under her breath, as she nosed her companion whose eyes remained firmly shut.

Phae's heart pounded in her golden breast - painfully aligning with the pulsing of her wounds. Breathing shakily, the turned to look at Circe from her knelt position. "It was only a question." She said, her voice barely louder than a whisper now. A question. And now Stella was...

...Light...

Phae's head immediately moved back to her companion. Her mental word had been so faint, that already the sound was fading from Phae's mind. "Light? Sugar what light?"

...Pretty. Stella...go?

Horrified, Phaedra snapped her gaze towards Circe. "Get Apollo!" She ordered, her sing-song voice now having risen with her hysteria. Turning back to the bird, Phaedra nickered softly into her downy feathers. "No sugar, you stay." She sobbed, as she wrapped her wings forward to shield her companion. As if her star-lit feathers would somehow keep away death.

You stay! She mentally reinforced, holding her breath and praying that Circe would just do as she asked.

How did it end up like this?

It was only a question....

[WC: 798
Attack: 3/3

Stella takes the hit squarely in her chest and flops to the ground. Phaedra rushes towards her, totally ignoring Circe until Circe's hooves strike her shoulder, and the mud hits her neck. She lunges forward into Circe, trying to hit her with her forelegs, and then bite her on the way down. Rushes towards Stella, and demands Circe go get Apollo.

After your closing defense, continuation thread mehbeh?]

Join the waves in the ocean?
Or let my soul fade away, in the dark?
Cause I've gone astray,
& all my flowers turned to dandelions.

CIRCE
Circe knew something was dreadfully wrong the moment her hooves touched the ground, having finished assaulting Phaedra. It felt as though the sky had finally fallen, settling on Circe’s back, her withers, her neck and tail—the shadowmere was bound, an invisible giant holding her hostage under his thumb. With a jolt, Circe realized what it was; her own arcane abilities had rounded on her. Her very bones and joints seemed to drag to the ground, almost melting towards it, aching in the unnatural way the earth beckoned its daughter. She could barely breathe with lungs pulled too far downward, eerie as it was—but her heart hammered very fast indeed as Phaedra’s cry tore the air, a tortured banshee bearing down on Circe.

There was no escape; Circe was caught fast by her magic. She could hardly turn her head, trying to angle it to the right and avoid the blows of the enraged Shadow. She didn’t succeed. Phaedra’s hooves struck with the intensity of a lightning bolt, exactly where Circe’s heart would sit; Phaedra’s teeth razed Circe’s cheek and neck, and were it not for the magic holding her in place, Circe would’ve rained fire and brimstone down upon the Spy just for that. The Spy’s mouth had no business anywhere on Circe’s person; it was an abomination, and Circe’s mind and body were already throbbing with the steam of injustice without the added pain and humiliation of Phaedra’s blows.

The Spy then stumbled out of Circe’s plane of vision, for the shadowmere’s gaze could not follow the Pegasus as she went to the feathered creature. A panic was beginning to bloom in Circe’s chest. The mire of her magic refused to dissipate—she couldn’t even move the tip of her tail, and it was all she could do to keep her limbs from buckling and collapsing on the ground. She was forced to listen to the pitiful mewlings that flowed from Phaedra’s lips, whines that further lit the brazier of indignation in the shadowmere’s chest. “It was only a question?” Circe growled, her words difficult to form with her stiffened mouth, “It was not a question for me. Go to Archibald; go to the Dark Lady. I followed the orders they gave me, nothing more.” A blaze settled over Circe’s eyes; the ivory plume of her tail managed a twitch in her fury. “The next time you seek explanation, do not dare to mock a warrior. Stay silent, listen. This is your responsibility, vulgar snake.”

Circe doubted that Phaedra heard her words; the Spy seemed to be mumbling something about “light”. With a snort, Circe heard the brash, impudent command to run and fetch Apollo—for what? nerve the Spy possessed, to demand things from the shadowmere after such a performance of insolence. The sorceress struggled, fighting with her magic so she could move, and muscles bulged in her neck as she strove to face Phaedra. Head turning slowly, the bite on her cheek throbbing and her chest ringing with the pain of Phaedra’s hoof, Circe swiveled her head to look behind her with straining eyes toward the kneeling Spy.

What she saw was a horse lying on the ground defeated, cradling a small, broken body.

Circe’s eyes widened. The air in her chest fluttered and died, fallen into the soil. Her mind was frozen; confusion reigned. In her mind’s eyes, she knew it was Phaedra holding the bird creature to her chest. Circe knew that speckled hide and starlit wings, but her body, her heart and marrow, saw something else completely—a memory that caused every nerve to cry out in dormant agony. The memory of a horse kneeling in the newly fallen snow, clutching a tiny, shattered form in their protective embrace.

The dark mare began to tremble despite her magic’s force. Circe was lost; what had happened to the creature? She remembered her hoof flailing in the air and—and a muffled crunch as it connected with the bird’s falling body. Had she truly put so much power into it? Circe couldn’t remember; everything before had been a haze of rage and the impulse to hurt—

The desire to punish.

A veil of revulsion crept upon Circe’s form. Her heart pounded a furious tempo in her chest, but try as she might, the magic refused to release the grip on her body. Her legs could not lift from the soil; her eyes couldn’t leave the horribly familiar scene that unraveled. No, she was forced to watch this sniveling, childish mare cradle a piece of her very soul—a piece Circe may have ripped out herself.

~.~.~.~.~

[W/C: 798

3/3 PC, 1/1 PC

1/1 MC

Circe's magic backlashes powerfully; she is unable to move easily and takes all of Phaedra's blows. Is unable to heed Phaedra's request to fetch Apollo. *At least in this thread*.]

CIRCERealism [+3]
I love how you describe Circe's motions just like a horse does when they are angry or trying to get attention. The striking out effect makes me think exactly of what horses do when I watch them in the pasture.

Using Circe as a battering ram seems very apt for her personage and was also a good move on her part, especially considering their size difference.

I very much appreciated that Circe did not notice Stella until she was already attacking! Often times it's difficult to remember that your horse should see birds and bird shadows all the time and not be truly bothered by them! (Until they try and main you, of course). I love the use of the tail to keep Stella away; I have never read something like that before!

I love how you had Circe's magic turn against her with the effects of the site-wide plot! This was a perfect segue into taking 6 points (max) damage from Phaedra.

Definitely got hit in the feels at the end, where Circe was struggling with the loss of her own child.

Prose [+3]
Your second attack post felt a little rushed. Some of the thoughts and actions never seemed to come full circle again, like with her using her magic. The comment felt like foreshadowing but then was not again mentioned.

I love Circe's furious dialogue. Your use of hyphens makes it punchy and the italics with the "!?" definitely makes me feel the intensity of the language.

"Almost unconsciously" --- perhaps you mean "almost subconsciously?" I think it's difficult to see a horse behave unconsciously unless you qualify the use of the word with perhaps an action that would indicate that she looks as if she is going to sleep.

"o—for what? nerve the Spy possessed," --> dropped a "The!"

Readability [+2]
Very nice and easy to read and follow.

Final Comments
I would definitely go back through posts and try and make them come full circle and explain anything you mention in the beginning! Your realism, however, is excellent, but I think you could hit the +5 easily if you used the environment more to your advantage and got creative!

Finally tally: +10 HP = 33HP

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PHAEDRARealism [+2]
I would like to see more emphasis put on pegasus acquiring lift. If they are in a valley, the amount of wind would be less and therefore slightly more difficult to pick up off the ground.

The way Phaedra twinged her muscles from the critical miss is exactly what I think makes this so realistic. What you captured in that moment was one of the most down-to-earth, plausible responses I have read.

I also really like how you considered the flapping of her wings to regain balance. You really seem to meld flight into the actions of the horse here.

If Circe was aiming for Phaedra's chest, but Phaedra moved to meet her companion, wouldn't the attack have landed somewhere else? I think it would have been more realistic to indicate that the damage was taken to the shoulder, if she was now facing away.

I would have also liked to see how the pain of being pummeled carried through the battle and affected her ability to thrash her hooves at Circe. Thrashing usually can hurt even if you are in an uninjured state!

Emotion [+2]
I love how languidly Phaedra is taking this battle so far, and I particularly like the part about wanting a fight just to be taken seriously - I think we've all felt that way before at some point!

The way Phaedra squealed and started to cry instantly brought me back to her character - she is willing to pick a fight, but maybe not so interested in getting hurt!

The part with Stella hit me right in the feels.

Prose [+4]
I feel that how you write Phaedra is as calm and beautiful as her personality. From the transitions you use, I get the sense of her being a graceful and calm individual.

You do a fantastic job of blending dialogue in with her actions and making the words almost real in my head.

Readability [+2]
Very easy to read!

Final Comments
I like how you used the environment and the slippery grass as well as mentioning the darkness! However, be sure to carry through pain in your posts and take note of how they affect her actions. Also, I would try and get more of a feel for timing and movement and how this would affect where a hit would or would not land.

The rejudge. The judge did not look at the initial verdict to make this one.

By my verdict: PHAEDRA is the winner!

CIRCERealism [+3]

Your realism improved over the course of the fight, but some of your beginning attacks didn’t seem as plausible which impacted your overall score.

Emotion [+2]
You had great emotion the entire fight, and I would give you a 2.5 if I could! Really amazing feels the whole time.

Prose [+3]
Overall you had good prose with some great moments sprinkled in, but other areas that weren’t as well written which brought the overall score down.

Readability [+2]
Easy to read!

Finally tally: 23+10= 33 HP

*******************************************

PHAEDRARealism [+1]
Your realism did increase over the course of the fight, but your first defense really didn’t seem plausible, at least not with the way you wrote it making it seem so effortless for her to jump up and over close kicks. Your early attacks weren’t as realistic as your later ones, so overall that brought your score down.

Emotion [+3]
I really felt the emotion in all your posts, but even more so I felt where that emotion was coming from. You did a great job explaining the motives of every feeling that passed through Phaedra.

Prose [+4]
Excellent prose all throughout, it was a joy reading your posts.